


My Perfect Boy

by casesandcapitals



Series: Dom!Gee [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casesandcapitals/pseuds/casesandcapitals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard gets home to find Frank waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Perfect Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Look at that shit! I wrote a PWP!  
> I've weirdly proud of myself because smut has always been difficult for me.  
> I hope you guys enjoy XD

The lock clicks and I push the door open, shedding my jacket and kicking off my shoes. I hang my keys on the hook and move into the house.  
The coffee pot is full and piping hot, a mug and spoon sitting next to it, waiting for me.  
 _So good to me,_ I think, smirking as I pour myself a drink.  
I can't hear the tv or the washing machine, which means he's learning. Learning incredibly well, I realize when I step into the living room.  
He's waiting for me, just like the coffee.  
He's on his knees, round little ass incased in jeans and resting on his feet. His hands are held behind him, at the small of his back. His brown eyes are on the floor, his breathing steady. He's waiting.  
I take my coffee with me to the couch, picking the paper up off the table when I sit. I read, occasionally turning a page, occasionally taking a sip. All the while he waits, kneeling on the carpet, just off to the side of the coffee table.  
I finish my drink and fold the paper back up. I look at him, examining him.  
His head is down, chin almost touching his chest. His shoulders are drooping, fingers lax on his wrist behind his back. He hasn't shifted or made a sound since I got home.  
"Frankie," I mutter.  
"Yes, sir," he answers. He's under, deep. The slur in his voice tells me everything I need to know.  
"Come here, baby."  
Frank crawls over to me slowly. I think maybe his legs are asleep. He'll have to figure out a better pose tomorrow. He stops in front of me, settling back on his ass and looking up into my face.  
His eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted just a bit.  
"You're so good, waiting for me like that," I tell him softly.  
"Missed you, sir," he says.  
I reach out and cup his cheek, he nuzzles into the caress, eyes falling shut. I guide him forward until his head is resting on my leg. He lets out a little contented sigh.  
"My good little boy," I tell him, smiling. "I think you deserve a treat for being so good. Do you agree?"  
"I want whatever you want, sir." The warmth of his steady breathing reaches my skin through the material of my pants.  
"Such a good boy," I mutter. "Frankie, undo my pants, baby."  
He reaches up and I can see the red mark around his wrist that he must have made before he went under. Waiting was always difficult for him, always made him tense up. But he's learning so, so well. He undoes the button and pulls down the zipper, then pulls his hands back.  
There was a time when he would have reached in to touch, but he knows better now. I didn't give him permission, so he doesn't.  
I lift my hips off the couch to slide my pants down, just a bit. I pull my cock out from my boxers, half hard.  
"Frankie."  
"Yes, sir?"  
I touch his face again, leading him forward. He keeps his hands behind his back, balancing on his knees.  
"Do you want my cock?" I ask.  
"Yes, sir."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes, sir. Please."  
I pull him closer, taking my growing erection with my other hand and setting the tip against his lips.  
There was a time where he would have poked his tongue out to taste, tried to get his lips around me. But he's so much more behaved now. He sits, patiently. The steady exhale from his nose sweeps against my skin, his thin pink lips warm against the tip.  
"Suck."  
His tongue darts out momentarily to wet his lips, then he lowers his head, taking me in. His mouth is hot and wet, the steady pull of him sucking making me sigh.  
"Such a good boy, Frankie. So good to me."  
He moans, the tiniest amount of vibration causing me to bite my lip.  
I slide the hand on his face lower, taking his chin between my thumb and fingers. He pulls off slowly.  
"Go get your things, Frankie."  
I smile at the small flutter of his eyelids, the little breath he lets out. "Thank you, sir."  
He slides back, away from me, and stands. I stroke myself while he's out of the room, anticipation making my toes curl in my shoes.  
Frank reenters the room, a blue shoebox in his hands. The box he's not allowed to touch unless I say. Everything in the box is for him, but they belong to me. Just like Frank.  
He sets the box on the cushion next to me.  
"Thank you, Frank. I want you to strip now."  
He does, slowly, methodically. His shirt comes over his head first. He folds it and lays in carefully on the coffee table. His jeans are next, folded and placed on top of the shirt. He hesitates for a split second.  
"Boxers too, Frankie. I want you nude."  
The gentle order seems to set his mind at ease, and the boxers get folded and placed atop his other clothes. He doesn't wear socks at home, so the boxers are the last article of clothing.  
He had confessed to me once, in a post-coital, giggly bliss, that taking off his socks while I watched made him feel stupid, clumsy and unsexy. I gave him permission to go barefoot around the house.  
He stands, hands behind his back again, completely nude and lax, his cock standing up and leaking. This used to make him nervous too, just like the waiting. He used to fidget and make little jokes to try and ease his own tension. He doesn't have to anymore. Now he stands, completely at ease, waiting for my next command.  
"On the couch, over the arm."  
He steps forward and crawls onto the couch next to me, setting his elbows on the armrest and dropping his head down.  
"Ass up, Frankie," I remind him.  
He perks up, spine curving.  
I shift my weight, turning to face him. I see the smallest shiver go through him when I take the top off the blue shoe box.  
"What do you want, Frankie?" I ask conversationally.  
"Anything you want to give me, sir," is his response. He's almost panting now.  
"You want me to pick?" I ask, smirking.  
"Yes, please, sir."  
He knows I could pick anything, anything at all. He also knows that I might pick nothing and make him stay like that, naked, ass in the air, all night while I watch tv. He knows.  
I search the small box with my eyes. I don't need the cuffs, or the blindfold. The plug isn't right, not the cock ring either. I consider his vibrator. It's pink and small. He picked it out himself, a wide grin on his face when he clicked the link on my laptop. He reminded me to buy batteries, too.  
No, not tonight. He's been so good, so perfect and submissive. I pull out the small bottle of lube. The snap of the cap opening causes him to shiver again. He perks his ass up.  
I slick up my fingers and climb to my knees behind him.  
"Frankie?"  
"Yes, sir?"  
"Do you want my fingers?"  
"Yes, please, _sir,_ " he gasps.  
He never would have lasted this long without touching himself before, not when we had first started doing this. It's been at least twenty minutes since he first undid my pants, and he's still waiting. I'm sure his cock is aching, hard as a rock, begging to be touched. But he waits, letting me do what I want.  
The choked off moan he lets out when I slip my first finger inside is enough to set my skin aflame. He wants, he wants _bad._  
I push another inside before I start fucking him with my fingers. He doesn't rock back against me and I almost purr.  
"You're doing so well Frankie, so amazing."  
"Th-Thank you, sir."  
The third finger makes him moan again, and I continue to press in and out. In and out. His head is drooping towards the arm of the couch now, so I slap him gently on the ass.  
"Ass up, Frank," I order.  
He corrects his posture, arching his back and lifting his head. He's shaking slightly.  
"Do you like what I'm doing to you, Frankie?" I ask, leaning forward a bit to mutter in his ear. I continue to work him open on three fingers.  
"Yes, sir."  
"You want me to keep going?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"I don't think I will," I tease.  
"Please, sir," he begs.  
"No. I think you deserve something better after how good you've been doing lately."  
"Thank you, sir- _oh!_ "  
I pull my fingers out and watch his pink little hole tighten around the empty space. My cock is straining now, untouched while I worked Frank open. I grab the lube again and slick myself up, biting my lip against the sensation.  
"What do you want, Frankie?" I ask in a low voice while I stroke myself.  
"Anything, sir," he pants.  
"Be specific, Frank."  
"Your cock, please, sir."  
I pull his cheeks apart and press in. We gasp in unison.  
"S-Sir," he groans.  
"You're so good to me, Frankie. You deserve this, this is for you," I pant.  
"Th-Thank you, s-sir."  
I straighten up, kneeling and pressing my hands into Frank's hips. I start to move, slowly, pulling out and pushing back in. The slide and drag of skin against skin is amazing and I can't imagine how I ever existed before Frank. I don't remember what I was doing before he came into my life. I stroke a hand up his spine and touch the back of his neck.  
"Someday you'll have a collar, Frankie. Someday you'll be mine for real." I keep up the steady pace of in, out, in, out.  
"Please. Oh, please, sir."  
I slip my hand from his neck to his shoulder, gripping him tight before slamming into him.  
"Ah! Sir, sir please! H-harder, sir!"  
"For you, Frankie," I groan. "Anything for you."  
With one hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder, I thrust in over and over. Hard, harder, faster. Whatever Frank manages to pant out, whatever words I make out under the moans. That's what I do.  
The _slapslapslap_ of flesh against flesh is the loudest sound in the room. I'm sweating through my clothes now, and Frank is too. I can see the gleam of sweat all over his gorgeous tan skin. He's shaking, shivering under my hands. I press my fingers into his skin harder, leaving the bruises I know he loves.  
"Puh-please, sir!"  
"What, what Frankie? What do you want?" I gasp, not slowing my thrusts.  
"I- I want to come, sir. Please."  
"You want to, or you need to?" I demand.  
"I need to, sir!"  
I pick up my pace, faster, faster, harder, harder. I'm going to ache in the morning, I can tell.  
"Do you deserve it, Frankie? Do you deserve to come?"  
"S-Sir!" he whines. His hands are clenching the fabric of the couch so hard his fingers are white.  
"Answer me, Frank. Do you deserve to come?"  
"Yes! Yes, sir!" he shouts.  
I thrust in and out, in and out, harder, harder.  
"Then come."  
The cry he lets out is music to my ears. He comes untouched and it makes me want to keep going and going until he's hard again, just so he can come again. But the pressure, the tightening of his ass around my cock pushes me over. I spill into him, pulling him back onto me, ass cheeks flush against my hips. He stays aware through it, the perfect boy, and presses back on me.  
I ride out the aftershocks inside him, never letting go because I know how he likes to stay close. When I finally unclench my fingers from his hip and shoulder, I can already see the bruises forming. In the morning he'll admire them in the bathroom mirror, smiling at the marks I left on his body. _Claiming me,_ he'll say. _I love when you claim me._  
I pull away from his sweaty body, my soft cock slipping out of him. He whines at the loss and his head thunks down onto his forearms against the couch. I tuck myself away carefully, wincing at the over sensation. I drag my pants back up and button them, then sit back down where I started.  
"Frankie."  
"Sir?" he answers in the weakest, most sated voice.  
"Come here, please."  
He pushes himself away from the arm of the couch and turns to me. His limbs are heavy and clumsy, his eyes are just about closed.  
I pull him down, cradling him under my arm and sweeping his short hair out of his eyes.  
"You did so good baby. So, so good. I'm so proud of you."  
"Love you, Gee," he slurs. He lets his head fall against my chest, his tired mouth curved up in a little smile.  
"I love you too, Frankie. So much."  
"I did good," he mutters, nuzzling against my shirt.  
"So good baby, the best."  
"Mmm, can I sleep, Gee?"  
"Of course, Frankie."  
He falls unconscious almost immediately after the words leave my mouth. I gaze down at him. He knees are tucked up against his stomach, toes pushing against the couch cushions. Both his hands are fisted loosely in the material of my shirt. The tiny smile on his lips doesn't fade with his consciousness. I reach up slowly and pull a blanket off the back of the couch, covering him gently so he doesn't get cold. I kiss his forehead.  
My perfect boy.


End file.
